


Lighten up, here’s the reason no one dies!

by thejokerghost



Series: The Adventures of a Newsie and his Guardian Gamin [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Crossover, Gen, Ghosts, Guardian Angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejokerghost/pseuds/thejokerghost
Summary: Lesdoesn'tdie during the strike, and he meets the one who saved him.alt title: fix-it of the opposite of a fix-itagain please don't read this
Relationships: Les Jacobs & Gavroche Thénardier
Series: The Adventures of a Newsie and his Guardian Gamin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901593
Kudos: 8





	Lighten up, here’s the reason no one dies!

When Les had been about six, he had been almost run over by a carriage. Luckily, his instincts had saved him and he had gotten out of the way. At least, that was what his family had said.

What Les remembered was that he had not noticed the carriage until seemingly too late. Someone had grabbed him and pulled him out of harm’s way. Yet his family did not remember saving him, nor did they recall anyone else doing it. But Les could have sworn that he had felt a hand grabbing his shoulder and tugging him back.

Now, Les did not believe in ghosts or the such. As he always said, he was young, not stupid. But something strange certainly began when he and Davey began selling newspapers.

They were standing in line the first day when Les saw a boy sitting by the front, a basket in hand. At first, he seemed just like another newsie; his dirt-brown hair was unkempt and greasy, he was dressed in old-looking grey coveralls, his face was covered in some black powder, assumingly dirt. But as they got closer, Les saw something off. No one seemed to notice the boy, regardless of him being in the way. His basket was not full of newspapers; it was full of cartridges. And when Les and Davey reached the front, the boy was gone.

“Did you see that kid?” Les asked his brother.

“Which kid?” said Davey, “There’s a whole lot of ‘em.”

“The kid  sittin ’ by Snyder with a basket full of cartridges!”

“Really? I didn’t see a kid like that.” Davey said.

Les frowned. He asked Jack and the other newsies about the kid, but they all laughed and said that they would know if some punk was walking around with a bunch of ammunition. No one remembered stepping over such kid. Les tried forgetting about it.

Yet the kid kept appearing. When Jack had been had been planning out the strike and asked for someone to strike and asked for someone to write something down, the strange kid had had shoved a pencil into  Les’s hand. At Brooklyn, one of the big newsies had walked up to Les in a not-so-friendly fashion, but the strange kid had appeared in between them, and the newsie had laid.

Les had always thought he could handle himself in a fight. Of course, he had never been in a real fight before. Then the second day of the strike happened.

The goons had been enough to keep the newsies in check for a long time. Les was thrown around and put in a barrel and rolled, but he was okay for the most part. Then the newsies heard the whistle of the police.

Les was seized and held down. He blacked out as the first blow struck him.

When he came to, he hurt all over, but the cops who had been attacking were elsewhere; fighting the strange kid, five on one, but the kid was quick. He ducked out of the way, always slipping where the cops could not reach him. He pushed one cop into another, he kicked a shin, he tripped one of Pulitzer’s men nearby. Les was then picked up by Davey to get to safety.

“Oh, Les, thank God.” Davey muttered, “I was afraid they would’ve killed  ya , but they just let go and went off somewhere else.”

The strange kid did not appear for a while. Les was kind of glad, because he was  afraid he was- what was the word Davey sometimes  used? - hallucinating.

The strike continued. They had the rally, Jack betrayed them, then came the Newsies Banner. The morning Jack was sent to negotiate was the day the kid approached Les.

Everyone had just been sent out. Les was sitting on the sidewalk, watching Race talk with Spot Conlon. He heard footsteps approaching. The strange kid who had always protected him sat beside him. Les looked at him closer. His eyes were jade green, there were holes in his shirt, and freckles covered his nose. He didn’t look much older than Les, maybe eleven or twelve.

“I guess I should introduce myself.” he said.

“You better!” said Les, “I thought you were a ghost or something!”

The kid laughed. “Really? Well, let me tell you something.”

He was extremely aggravating. “What?”

“You’re right.”

“What-?” No way.  _ No way _ .

“You’re right.  _ I am a ghost. _ ” The boy laughed again. “I’m Gavroche.”

Les would not be played as an idiot. He refused to. “Prove it.”

Gavroche rolled his eyes. “Okay.” He got up and walked up to Race and Spot. He raised his hands behind their heads and, to  Les’s concern, clapped, his hands passing right through their heads. “Now kiss!” he giggled, continuing to clap through their heads. He walked back to Les and sat back down. “That proof enough?”

“I- I-” That... kind of made sense, seeing as he could disappear in the blink of an eye. Les blinked quickly, trying to process his questions. He put up his hands in befuddlement. “You’ve been protecting me since I was younger, right? Like what, a guardian angel?”

Gavroche raised an eyebrow. “I guess you could say that.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause I like you.”

“ _ I’m nine and a half _ -” Les began, edging away.

“Not in that way, idiot!” Gavroche snorted. “No, kid, you... you  kinda remind me of me.” He smiled sadly and looked at his shirt, picking at the holes with his fingers. “And I don’t want you to die the way I did.”

Whoa. “So, Dave was right? Would I have died there at the battle?” Les said.

“Maybe.” Gavroche replied grimly, “I knew I had to get in there.”

“So, you actually took on those bulls single-handedly?” Les asked.

“Well... yeah.” Gavroche gave a humble cock of his head.

“You knew how to fight when you were living? When... when  _ did  _ you die?”

Gavroche looked up at Pulitzer’s office, and he must have seen something Les could not see, because he said, “Maybe I’ll tell you another time. For now, you have other news to hear. I'll see you around, Les.” His image flickered, and he disappeared.

Les stared at the spot where his guardian angel had been sitting. He could not guess whether or not he would see the boy again, but he promised himself to learn more of him if he did. He awaited the news Gavroche had told him of, directing his attention to Race and Spot with the image of them kissing now intruding his thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> hehe I have a [Tumblr](https://uncreativepieceofmusicaltrash.tumblr.com/)


End file.
